


Every Time You Move (I Let a Little More Show)

by ohkaaye



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohkaaye/pseuds/ohkaaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is about half an hour into her first practice as captain of the Ark High Panthers’ cheerleading squad when it happens. </p><p>Alternately, the Bring It On AU a shitload of people wanted but never got around to writing, I think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Sharna and Crystal, who are the best enablers ever. I've taken quite a few liberties with the American school system and left some things intentionally vague because everything is confusing.

Clarke is about half an hour into her first practice as captain of the Ark High Panthers’ cheerleading squad when it happens: Raven, her best friend and the team’s best flyer wobbles violently on a pyramid just a teeny bit higher than what’s strictly allowed for their competitive level and before anybody has time to react, she’s sprawled on the grass with her leg contorted at an unnatural angle and—oh God, is that bone?

 

“I don’t know what possessed me to suggest it,” Clarke moans, her face in her hands as the ambulance takes them to the nearest hospital.

 

Raven—being Raven—grits her teeth in pain and tells her to fuck off. “Not because I blame you or anything,” she clarifies, “but because I know you’re going to agonize over ‘ruining my cheerleading career’ for weeks and that’s not the kind of headspace you need to be in if you want to whip these losers into shape for Regionals. This sucks, but there’s no career to ruin and you know it.”

 

She does; Raven’s made it abundantly clear enough times that she hates having to cheer for their football team (“Bunch of homophobic, sexist assholes, losing games like it’s their job,” she’d spit when she’s in a particularly foul mood. “My grandma could play better, and she’s 87 with a hip replacement.”), and that she’s only sticking it out for one last year to pad her transcript for a better chance at a university scholarship. Still, she’s a hell of a gymnast and it’s going to be a bitch to replace her.

 

“Kind of makes you wish The Commander was here, right?”

 

Murphy, whose presence in the ambulance is probably more motivated by morbid curiosity instead of actual concern, snorts in derision. “The Commander’s got more testicles than feelings,” he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. “She’d probably make Reyes run a mile for interrupting practice with her mortal concerns.”

 

The Commander (not-so-fondly nicknamed because of her ruthlessness and general dislike of smiling for anything other than cheerleading purposes) lived and breathed cheerleading, had been unanimously voted captain as a freshman in an unprecedented move when her predecessor stepped down due to a nervous breakdown. She single-handedly choreographed all of their routines, resulting in four championship trophies and a reputation for being the best, most creative high school team in the country. It’s a legacy Clarke is desperate to live up to, partly out of pride and partly because with her boyfriend Finn in college and her mom lecturing her about the pros of going with pre-med instead of pursuing an art program for the nth time, it’d be nice to actually have something good to come out of her senior year.

 

“Where are we going to find a replacement on such short notice?” Clarke demands, more to herself than anybody else.

 

“Roma’s already tweeted about the accident so you’ll probably have a decent amount of people trying out once you set a date,” Murphy replies, holding out his phone. “Look, she misspelled ‘leg.’”

 

Clarke kind of wants to throw up but she squelches the urge and huffs out a laugh instead. 

 

* * *

 

Finn returns her panicked texts by actually calling, the first time he’s done so since he drove to college in the next state over a few weeks ago. Clarke would be more annoyed, but honestly her plate is too full right now with all the AP science classes and the Asian History elective her mom made her take on top of everything else (“For diversity, Clarke!” she’d explained in exasperation) so she just melts against her locker just before class and tries to believe in him when he says that she’s going to do fine.

 

“I love you,” she says.

 

“Mm-hmm, you too.”

 

Clarke tries not to be annoyed by that either.

 

Some of the football players are in Asian History with her ( _probably looking to scam an easy A_ , she thinks, rolling her eyes) so she skips the seat beside Dax and Atom, opting to sit by the window instead. Mrs. Martinez is halfway through discussing the syllabus when a tan, freckly boy she’s only seen a few times in the hallways comes in, a pen between his teeth and a late pass in his hand.

 

“Really, Bellamy?” Mrs. Martinez sighs, fondly exasperated. “Another History elective?”

 

Bellamy runs his fingers through his messy dark curls, takes out the pen and says, “I’m predictable that way,” before walking down the aisle toward the last empty seat beside Clarke.

 

Atom coughs violently, a hacking noise that sounds suspiciously like “Loser,” while Dax cracks up.

 

Bellamy smirks but says nothing, waits until he’s behind Atom to swat at his head. Clarke can tell that it hurts more than it looks by the way the football player scowls but she can’t help it—she snickers. “I’ve been wanting to do that for years now,” she whispers when Bellamy looks at her.

 

“I’m sure you’ll get your chance,” he replies with a wry grin. “I’m Bellamy.”

 

“Clarke,” she shakes his hand and returns the grin, ignoring the tingly feeling in her fingertips his touch had left behind. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tryouts are a disaster. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers and tumbling combinations borrowed from the movie, and poor Roma gets all the token bitch lines. :(

Tryouts are a _disaster_. Clarke doesn’t think her squad is particularly mean-spirited but after the fourth girl is asked to leave for not knowing how to do a basic herkie, even sweet and patient Monty is annoyed. “Everyone actually qualified to be on the team is already on the team,” he says, gripping his hair in fruustration. “It’s basic logic.”

 

“Let’s just cut the crap and pick someone! My sister’s trying out,” Roma declares. “She’s super cute and really tiny, and I’ve already dropped her a couple of times when she was a baby so she won’t even mind when you do it, Murphy.”

 

“Fuck off, Roma.”

 

“If she’s the best, then she’s got the spot,” Clarke replies, but she’s doubtful; she’s seen Maya and while the little sophomore has trained in gymnastics with her sister for years, she also too soft-spoken, too easily intimidated. Roma would walk all over her sister and the squad needs someone with an actual spine. There has to be someone else on the school they might have missed.     

 

Except it gets much worse from there, finally culminating in a junior who breaks down in the middle of her cheering because she’d just broken up with her girlfriend. Clarke’s almost ready to throw in the proverbial towel and pick Maya just for being able to do a back handspring when a gorgeous brunette with intricate braids and scarily perfect eyebrows walks into the gym, cool and confident in a beat-up leather jacket and denim cut-offs. “Where’d you park your Harley?” Murphy mutters under his breath, flinching when Clarke kicks his ankle under the table.

 

“ _Octavia_ Blake?” Roma scoffs. “Before we begin, we’re going to have to make sure you can do a standing back tuck—just to make sure you’re not wasting our time.”

 

Octavia takes off her jacket and Clarke can’t help but stare; her musculature is _insane_ , a sure sign that she’s not dicking around for funsies. “Standing back handspring, back tuck okay?” she asks. Without waiting for an answer, she executes the move perfectly and sticks the landing. Monty lets out a low whistle—even Murphy is impressed.

 

“Can she yell?” asks Fox. She breaks out into her cheer face and does a quick chant. “Awesome, oh wow, like totally freak me out, I mean right on—Panthers sure are number one!”

 

Clarke immediately knows that this is the wrong cheer to have Octavia Blake do when she gives them a paper thin smile oddly reminiscent of Raven’s sardonic ones. “I transferred last semester and your school has no gymnastics team—this is a last resort!” Her voice is all sarcasm and false cheer but it echoes through the gym and Clarke has to smother a laugh at how stunned the rest of her friends look. Octavia shrugs. “Never cheered, but how about something that actually requires a neuron or two?”

 

It’s a clear challenge, one that Clarke is only all too happy to accept. “Front handspring, step-out,” she says, “roundoff back handspring, step-out, roundoff back handspring, full twisting layout.” It’s a complicated combination, but there’s no malice in her curiosity; Octavia looks like the kind of girl who can handle everything she could possibly throw, Roma’s cattiness and Murphy’s snark included. She crosses her fingers under the table and gives the younger girl what she hopes is an encouraging smile.

 

Octavia makes a show of rolling her eyes and shaking her head before making her way to the farthest corner of the gym. She nails the combination without barely even a wobble and Clarke doesn’t have to look at the rest of the team to know that this is the girl they’re looking for. “Welcome to—“

 

“We’ve already voted on Maya,” Roma interrupts.

 

Irritation flashes through Clarke but she fights not to let it show. “This isn’t a democracy, Roma,” she says sweetly. “It’s a cheer-ocracy. I’m overruling you.”

 

“Don’t be such a cheer-tator, Clarke!” Roma gives Octavia a head-to-toe appraisal and sneers. “Little Miss Trailer Trash isn’t Panther material.”

 

The hurt in Octavia’s eyes lasts approximately 0.2 seconds before it’s replaced with something a little more venomous. “Whatever,” she scoffs, picking up her jacket and stomping out of the gym. Clarke is just about desperate enough to chase after her, beg on bended knee and all that, but something needs to be dealt with first. She stands up, straightens up to her actual height and gives Roma what she hopes is a glare even the Commander would be proud of.

 

“I’m the Captain,” Clarke says, “and what I say goes. You can fall in line or not, but if we want the best, we need to have the best. Octavia’s the shit—take a big whiff.”

 

* * *

 

Roma and Fox send Clarke a steady stream of texts as she drives and by the time she’s gotten to the Blake house, she knows that Octavia was kicked out of her old school for fighting ( _Might be more trouble than she’s worth,_ Fox says), and that she and her brother ( _2 close 4 comfort, but he’s hot if you’re into that sort of thing,_ Roma texts) moved in with their ( _significantly wealthier,_ Fox adds) grandparents after their mom died. Fox tends to be neutral about most things, but she knows Roma’s texting her so she’ll change her mind—which she definitely won’t. She isn’t really sure what to expect when she rings the doorbell but it certainly isn’t Bellamy from Asian History answering the door and looking adorably rumpled like he’d just woken up from a nap on the couch.

 

“You?” Clarke blurts out.

 

Bellamy brightens slightly, but sees her uniform and folds his arms over his chest, immediately on older brother defense mode. “O said something about bitchy cheerleaders when she came home,” he replies. “You and I going to have problems, Clarke?”

 

“Hardly,” Clarke says. “I’m prepared to grovel; we need her.”

 

He relaxes, but just by the tiniest bit. “Are you sure you’ve got the right girl? Isn’t her total lack of pep and cheer going to be a problem—“

 

“Shut up, Bellamy.” Octavia interrupts her brother with a smack to the chest before giving Clarke a wary once-over. “Look, consider my tryout temporary insanity, alright?” she says. “I’m a hardcore gymnast and there’s no way jumping up and down, cheering on a bunch of morons while they chase after a little ball is going to satisfy me.”

 

It’s really terrifying how much she and Raven actually have in common. Clarke shakes her head and argues, “We’re gymnasts too—just, without any of the equipment. And games at school are just practices for us. We compete. We train and work hard, and we’ve won the national championships four years in a row. I’d love for you to be a part of that.”

 

Octavia bites her lip. Bellamy, who Clarke noticed had been watching them carefully, catches her eye, letting the corners of his mouth quirk up into the tiniest grin. “I don’t want you wearing that uniform, O—it’s practically an invite for all those dick-for-brains football players to ogle your ass.”

 

“You’re the dick, Bellamy,” Octavia snaps. She turns her glare at Clarke, her green eyes flashing with steely determination. “Count me in. I’ll see you at practice or whatever.”

 

Bellamy waits for his sister to disappear back into the house before leaning against the doorframe. “Trade secret: easiest way to make my sister want to do something is to tell her I don’t want her to do it,” he shakes his head fondly.

 

“You don’t seem like the school spirit type,” Clarke gestures at his AC/DC shirt and scuffed sneakers. “Not that I’m not grateful, but why’d you help me out?”

 

“I’m helping my sister out,” Bellamy corrects her. “Cheerleading’s gotta look better on her transcript than getting kicked out. Besides, you looked really desperate. It was a little sad to watch.”

 

Clarke is in too good a mood to even consider coming up with a retort. Desperation (for Octavia's acceptance and for her not to have to go back and see Roma's smug I-told-you-so face) was a pretty good word for what she'd been feeling on the drive over but right now she feels hopeful—things are finally,  _finally_ looking up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to have this up last week but my laptop died, and when I finally (FINALLY!) resurrected it, I lost half a chapter. :( :( :( I'll be able to update this in a more timely manner now that my baby's alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ ohkaaye


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